


5 Times Tsuna Didn't Realize Gokudera Was Saying 'I Love You' + 1 Time He Said It Back

by zacekova



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blushing, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, So much blushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova
Summary: Gokudera isn't good with words. He shows Tsuna how he feels through actions, but it takes Tsuna a little while to catch on.
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato/Sawada Tsunayoshi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 126





	5 Times Tsuna Didn't Realize Gokudera Was Saying 'I Love You' + 1 Time He Said It Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hymn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/gifts).



> You asked for "2759 - different ways in which to say 'i love you'" and I have (finally) delivered. Sorry I made you wait so long!

### #1

The trashcan is overflowing — balled-up tissues scattered around its base like the mountain of discarded drafts Tsuna makes every time he writes an essay ( _tries_ to write one, anyway). Except slimey. 

His nose has been dripping like a faucet since he woke up at dawn with a miserable groan, the space behind his eyes throbbing in tandem with the dull and lethargic beat of his heart. His pulse feels more like a steady, relentless, _palpable_ doorbell that’s constantly reminding Tsuna of just how disgustingly unwell he is. There’s sweat soaking into the sheets even though he keeps shivering, the smallest inkling of imagining trying to swallow any food makes his stomach flip and tumble and _twist_ , and when his mother came in to check on him this morning she’d turned around after barely a second’s glance to say she was calling him out of school for the day. 

The thing is, it’s probably just a cold. 

But it _feels_ like a plague, souring Tsuna’s mouth and burrowing heavy and sticky in his chest, sending out probing tendrils of aching pain and exhaustion, weighing him down to the bed like he’s slowly turning from flesh to lead. 

_Ugh_. 

The door eases open with a quiet click and a head of floppy, silver hair peeks around the edge, brow furrowed in concern. “How ya doin’, boss?” 

“Ugghhh,” Tsuna groans, eyelids drooping. 

Gokudera is nice enough not to laugh; instead, his mouth tightens with a small grimace as he slides the rest of the way into the room and crouches down to hunch over his backpack. “I stopped at the convenience store on the way back, picked up some stuff for Mama. Well, stuff for you, but she asked me to grab it.” His rifling unreathes a packet of disposable compresses and another of lotion-infused tissues, a box of pain killers, cold medicine, and a bag of cough drops. 

“Mama’s making you some _conjee_ so you can take the medicine,” Gokudera continues, “but you can use the rest of this now if you want anything?” 

Tsuna’s gaze trails lazily over the assorted items, mind sluggish, but eventually he nods and waves vaguely. “A cough drop,” he croaks, and then devolves into a fit of hacking with the way it rasps dryly against his windpipe. “Maybe three,” he adds, once his throat has stopped tickling. 

Gokudera rips the bag open and drops it on the nightstand in easy reach before going back to his bag. Tsuna peels a drop out of its wrapper while Gokudera rifles again for another minute, and pops it in his mouth, sucking lightly. Gokudera twists around on the soles of his feet after a minute, still crouching, and holds up a thick folder. 

“I know you’re not up for it yet, but these are the notes for today,” he says, cheeks dusting a pale pink even as his eyes are bright and eager, hoping for praise. 

And he’s right, homework is the last thing on Tsuna’s mind right now (well, it’s pretty much _always_ the last thing on his mind), but he wrangles up a smile in thanks and holds his hand out. “Thanks.” 

Gokudera passes the folder over and Tsuna’s eyes widen in surprise at the heft of it, and then even more when he flips it open and sees how extensive the notes are. It looks like a full transcript of every class with explanatory notes cluttering up the margins, all in Gokudera’s neat script. 

“...Did you really do all this yourself?” Tsuna asks, gaze still stuck on the pages and pages and _pages_ of notes. When he’s met with a long moment of silence he finally peels his eyes away and looks up. 

Gokudera’s cheeks have progressed in hue to bright, cherry red and it looks like he just barely manages the jerky nod he gives in answer. 

This time, Tsuna’s smile comes a lot easier — still not as big as it probably is most of the time, but easy, genuine, and he spares a thought to wonder about the thrill in his chest when Gokudera flushes impossibly darker and gives a shy, pleased grin back. 

  
  
  


### #2

“I’m just — _hic!_ — so _proud_ of yooouu,” Kaa-san wails, flinging her arms around his neck and dripping all over his shoulder. 

Tsuna pats her on the back, simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. Would she have been this emotional if he weren’t so hopeless with all things school-related? But still, she’s happy he graduated, and, frankly, so is Tsuna (no more all-nighters and bruises from Reborn’s dictatorial study sessions, at the very least). 

On the other hand... Timoteo announced his plan to step down next year and Tsuna has to be in Italy in a few weeks to start training full-time. And he’s… not sure he’s ready for it. 

Kaa-san finally pulls back, wiping the tears off her cheeks and smiling brightly. “Come on Tsu-kun, we need to go celebrate! Tsuyoshi said everyone’s welcome to come to _Takesushi_ , he’s been preparing for days.” She latches on to Tsuna’s wrist, tugging in the direction of their car, and Tsuna… 

He can’t do this. He can’t put on a smile and celebrate right now. He already went through the steps of relief and celebration when he saw his final grades two weeks ago and now he’s mired in a swirling pit of apprehension and nerves. Everyone’s going to be talking about the future, about how he’s going to start training soon, asking if he’s packed for the move and excited to see Italy and on and on and on and —

 _Damnit_. 

He really just can’t do this. 

He starts to pull his hand out of Kaa-san’s grip, trying to find the right words to back out of the party gracefully, when someone slings an arm around his shoulder and tugs him close. 

“Sorry, Mama, but we’ve gotta get going,” Gokudera says, lips pulled into an apologetic smile, kind in a way he rarely is for anyone except Tsuna’s mother. 

Kaa-san spins around, eyes wide in dismay. “What? Already?” 

Gokudera nods, starting to walk backward toward the street and dragging Tsuna with him. “We’ll just have to have another party when we get back.” 

“Get back?” Tsuna asks, glancing back-and-forth between the two of them. “Where are we going?” 

Kaa-san’s face dips into a pout, but her eyes are soft. “Oh fine, but don’t forget. And come back safely!” 

Gokudera stops retreating and lets go of Tsuna long enough to bow deeply, calling out, “I promise!” and then he snags Tsuna’s shoulders and steers him toward the sleek silver car he got a few months back. He practically shoves Tsuna inside before walking around and sliding into the driver’s seat, turning the car on and pulling out of the school’s parking lot. 

“Seriously, where are we going?” Tsuna asks, glancing over at Gokudera’s profile. 

“A road trip,” Gokudera says, a cigarette suddenly appearing in his hand, smoke curling up around him like a halo until he opens the window a crack and the rush of air brushes it away. 

Huh. Tsuna’s always kind of wanted to go on a road trip, but he knows he’s never bothered to mention it out loud (he never had anyone to go with for a long time, and then Reborn showed up and life was chaos, and after that schoolwork and the sudden appearance of friends consumed every hour he had), especially since it wasn’t _that_ strong of a desire anyway. So then… “Why?” he asks. 

The steering wheel lets out an ominous creak under Gokudera’s hands and Tsuna notices his knuckles have gone white, a sharp contrast to the rapid flush of pink in his cheeks. “I, uh… thought—” Gokudera coughs, clears his throat, scrubs his free hand through his hair and fumbles around for a minute. “I thought you might… want a break from everything. You know, before your training starts.” 

Tsuna wonders for a moment if Gokudera had turned up the heat without him noticing because suddenly he feels inexplicably, almost unbearably warm, but it’s good, welcome. Like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer. He still, to this day, doesn’t know what he did to make Gokudera want to be friends with him, but it’s been a blessing like nothing else to have that loyalty and consideration focused on him for all this time. 

“Wow,” Tsuna says, “that’s—” He pauses again, trying to find the words. “Just… thank you.” 

Gokudera flushes a bit darker, like he always does when Tsuna thanks him or praises him — equal parts embarrassed and pleased — and this time, after an uncountable number of times since that first time in his bedroom sick with a cold, Tsuna realizes what the little thrill in his chest is about. 

_Oh_. 

_Oh, fuck._

  
  
  


### #3

Tsuna walks into his new office the morning after the ceremony in which he was officially declared Vongola Decimo and feels his heart sink a little bit. 

He’s been in this room hundreds of times already, sat with Timoteo and studied for hours, listened to his instructions and advice, argued with mafia bosses and doled out orders on the Nono’s behalf and passed out on every single one of the uncomfortable and fancy settees and chairs at least once. He knows this room better than he knows his own bedroom. But it’s never sunk in until this moment — now, when it’s _his_ — how… not-Tsuna it is. 

(Which is probably a good thing, since he’s still half waiting for someone to jump out from around a corner with a camera and tell him this whole thing has been one extraordinarily long and elaborate joke, because how could _Tsuna_ be a mafia boss?) 

But for now… for now it really is his — his office, his space — and he looks around at the vaulted ceilings with their cherry crown moldings and renaissance murals, the intricate vine work on the paneled walls and the crystal light fixtures, the lush carpet under his shoes and the elegant lines of every piece of furniture in the room. It’s gorgeous, it’s refined, it’s _expensive_ , and it’s… _imposing_ , and Tsuna feels like a kid caught playing pretend in a roped-off room in a museum. 

Some of his discomfort must show because Gokudera is there, suddenly, leaning in close and asking softly, “Everything okay, Boss?” 

He’s not, but there’s nothing to be done about it, this has been the Vongola boss’s office ever since Primo had the building constructed and it would be blasphemy to change things up, especially when he’s so young and new and… and hopeless. Tsuna knows he’s going to make a huge mess of things one of these days, but he’s also going to do everything he can to put that day off as long as possible, and if that means sucking it up and sitting in this cold, impersonal office until then, he’ll do it. He promised Timoteo he would do his best. 

He gives the room one last lingering look and then he strides over to his desk and gets to work. 

~~~ 

The settees are missing. 

Tsuna blinks, gaze flicking around the room and taking in a dozen changes from how his office was just yesterday evening when he finally dragged himself off to his bed. 

So, the settees (in all their stiff and elegant upholstered glory) are gone, and so are all the fancy chairs. There’s now a monstrously large, lumpy, extremely comfortable-looking sectional in their place. The corner is sporting a cluster of bean bag chairs surrounding a television with at least four different gaming consoles hooked up to it, all the cables wrapped up neatly, but the controllers are scattered around on the floor like loose change. 

The china tea set has been replaced with a simple coffee pot and mismatched mugs and there’s a mini fridge shoved alongside the bar counter; Tsuna can see at least five different types of soda through the clear glass door. And though the walls and ceilings are exactly the same, there’s some band posters stuck over the most ridiculous parts of the ceiling mural. 

And the final change Tsuna sees is one of those dorky lamp/office organizers on his desk, with Gokurdera hunched over it and stuffing in a bunch of paper clips. 

“What…?” Tsuna murmurs, apparently just loud enough to be heard, because Gokudera whips his head up, eyes wide. 

“Boss!” 

“What is all this?” Tsuna manages, letting his gaze drift back over the room. 

There’s the sound of shuffling feet and a low cough, and then Gokudera stutters out, “I thought you, uh… might be more comfortable like this. With something more like home.” 

Tsuna turns back to him finally, eyes drifting over Gokudera’s familiar, embarrassed expression, the awkward way he’s standing and avoiding Tsuna’s gaze, the light dusting of pink on his cheeks, and thinks, _I think I might love him a little bit._

What he says out loud, softly and sincerely, is, “Thank you, Hayato,” getting another jolt of delight at the way Gokudera stiffens and then ducks out of the room with a mumbled sentence Tsuna can’t quite catch, ears red and shoulders hunched. 

(And seriously. He needs to do something about this before he explodes.)

  
  
  


### #4

“Where’s your tea, Boss?” Hayato asks, even though he’s already checked half the cabinets in the kitchen. 

“Left of the fridge,” Tsuna answers. “And can you _please_ call me ‘Tsuna’ when we’re not working? You’re in my kitchen in your pajamas. After spending the night. I really don’t want to be reminded that I’m the head of a mafia right now.” 

Gokudera ( _Hayato_ , now he has to remember that too) had frozen in front of the open cabinet and he turns to look sheepishly over his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

Tsuna waves off the apology; they’ve already had this conversation half-a-dozen times since the two of them started spending less than strictly platonic time together a few months ago and Tsuna knows it won’t be the last. “Just try and remember. And grab the box of _asamushi_.” 

The next few minutes pass in relative silence as they putz around, preparing their teas and breakfasts, but it’s nice, just having someone in his space, keeping him company. They settle at the table and Tsuna curls his hands around his cup, soaking in the warmth and sweet scent and humming in pleasure. 

“Is it good?” Hayato asks, gaze flicking down to Tsuna’s cup. “I’ve not tried much Japanese tea.” 

“It’s alright,” Tsuna shrugs. “This is what Kaa-san always got. It’s not the highest grade, but it’s definitely not the cheapest. Iemitsu —” he pauses, clearing his throat before correcting (they’re working on things, but it’s still weird to think of his father so familiarly) — “ _My dad_ brought us some _shincha_ once, saying someone had given it to him as thanks for a job or something. Once I got to try it I understood why it costs so much. It’s still the best tea I’ve ever had.” 

Hayato hums, chewing thoughtfully, and finally swallows. “Why’s it so expensive?” 

“I’m not an expert on tea, but I think it’s supposed to be made from the very youngest leaves or something, so there just isn’t very much of it to get. Kaa-san couldn’t afford it so we only had it that one time.” 

Hayato’s brow furrows. “That sucks.” 

(It bothered him briefly, way back then when he’d found out how pricey Japan’s most prized tea is, but he’s never really been bothered by the lack of finery in his life, especially once he found friends who care about and support him, despite his No-Good status. He may _still_ be adjusting to this Vongola Decimo thing, but he’s gained the best friends he could have asked for, he’s got _Hayato_ ; he wouldn’t trade that for another life just so he could maybe have had all the _shincha_ and other nice things he wanted.) 

Tsuna just shrugs again and takes a sip of his inferior _asamushi_ before finally setting into his breakfast. 

  
  


~~~

Three weeks later, Tsuna walks into his office to find an innocuous silver canister resting on the center of his desk. He opens it gingerly and then inhales deeply, the distantly-familiar, but undeniably nostalgic scent infusing the entire room, and goes warm all the way down to his toes. 

(Yep. Definitely wouldn’t trade this life for another one.) 

  
  
  


### #5

Someone’s trying to kill Alessio De Luca. 

But that’s not really the problem. At least, it’s not the biggest problem, not for Tsuna. No, the biggest problem is all the infighting the assassination attempt has caused within the famiglia; all the tension shattering what had apparently been nothing more than a thin facade of peace. 

De Luca’s witch of a wife is blaming her least favorite son for orchestrating it, but Fedele is far too busy conquering every prostitute in the city (or so it would seem) to even come close to having the time to plot taking over as the Don, if he even wants the job (unlikely). Not to mention he’s the third son and both of his older brothers are far too competent for Fedele to ever have had a chance at succession anyway. That hasn’t stopped almost a third of the famiglia from standing self-righteously on either one side or the other of Franca’s accusations, and constantly at each other’s throats about it. 

Then there’s Alessio’s ancient and paranoid advisor Luca (and yes, _holy fuck_ , some long-dead ancestor named their poor child _Luca De Luca_ ), who swears the Sabbatinis are behind everything and has been spouting the most bizarre conspiracy theories Tsuna has ever heard in his life (and he’s met people who genuiely believe _Finland_ doesn’t exist) trying to prove it to anyone who can bear to listen to his raving. 

The first son’s wife, Silva, is also involved in the mess, but so far it doesn’t seem to have gone beyond her increasingly obnoxious attempts to convince the famiglia that it’s time for Alessio to step down and let his heir take his place. 

Two distant relatives have been disowned and banished, Alessio’s mother locked herself in her room a week ago and refuses to speak to anyone, five servants have been arrested for theft and a sixth for sedition, and Alessio himself is so terrified he’s got his bodyguards working round the clock protecting him. (Most of his men haven’t had more than five hours of sleep a night since before Tsuna even showed up to help him get to the bottom of this.) 

It’s a whirlwind of chaos and Tsuna hasn’t made a lick of progress toward figuring out who’s _actually_ responsible for the assasination attempt or the reason behind it. He’s too busy fielding petty arguments and screaming matches and paranoid delusions, and he’s starting to worry even _he’ll_ be a bit bald by the time this is all over with the way he keeps scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. 

He would say he doesn’t get paid enough for this, except he’s not getting paid for this at all. He decided to help De Luca out of the kindness of his heart, but as he sits in his guest room — poring over all the notes he’s made this week and trying to block out the distant sound of shouts and breaking porcelein — he’s about ready to say “fuck it” and let the whole family kill each other off. 

There’s a knock on the door, then, which could either mean a welcome break or more drama to endure, but either way it means Tsuna has to get up. He sighs heavily and drags himself across the room to peer through the peep-hole. His eyes go wide and he wrenches the door open, staring at the figure lounging against the opposite wall in disbelief. 

“Reborn? What are you doing here?” 

Reborn tickles a fingertip under Leon’s chin, lip quirked in the slightest of smiles. “Gokudera called. He said all your guardians were tied up with other jobs, leaving you stuck with just a couple of bodyguards.” He turned his piercing stare on Tsuna, then, brow furrowing. “You should have contacted me.”

“I’m Vongola Decimo now, I’m not supposed to need you holding my hand like a kid anymore,” Tsuna says, trying to sound confident, maybe a bit indignant, but he’s thrown off guard by Reborn’s sudden appearance after so long (months? or is it years already?), by the stress of this past week, by hearing that Hayato had thought to send someone to come keep him company, and he knows it comes out more petulant than anything. “And besides,” Tsuna continues, ”you finally have the life of an adult back, I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“Idiot,” Reborn says, and he’s suddenly at Tsuna’s side, looping an arm around his neck and digging a rock-hard knuckle into his skull. “If they need it, students should always feel safe to ask their teachers for help.” 

He’s not going to cry at that, he’s _not_ , but Tsuna does allow his throat to tighten a little, even as he shoves an elbow into Reborn’s ribcage in retaliation. “Ow, _Reborn_ , that hurts! Stop!” 

For once, Reborn lets him off easy, backing away with a smirk and then following Tsuna into his room when he jerks a thumb over his shoulder with a brow quirked in invitation. They settle at Tsuna’s desk, Reborn planting a palm on the only clear corner of its surface and leaning over to scan the pile of papers. 

“Get me up to speed, Dame Tsuna,” Reborn says gently, and nods along seriously as Tsuna starts explaining. 

Tension starts sliding off his shoulders as he lets someone else take part of the burden of this mess, as he lets someone help and gets the company of a treasured friend at the same time, and in the back of his mind, Tsuna makes a note to call Hayato later and thank him. 

  
  
  


### +1

There’s a knock on the door and Hayato sticks his head through a moment later. “You done for the day, Boss?” 

Tsuna looks back down to finish signing the report in front of him and gestures at the remaining stack of paperwork perched on the edge of his desk. “Unfortunately, no. You should go home, Hayato, this’ll take me at least another hour.” 

Hayato’s brow pinches as he strides closer, resting his hip against Tsuna’s desk. “You sure?” he asks, like he does every time this happens, even though he must know Tsuna will always give some version of the same response back. 

And he does, nodding as he reaches for the next sheet of paper. “Cedro’s watching the door and Mukuro is lurking around in the shadows somewhere, so I’m safe. If you’re done with your work there’s no point in you sitting around any longer just because I’m slower than my genius secretary.” Tsuna glances up and grins at the flush his compliment pulled to Hayato’s face. 

“Um… Uh yeah, alright,” Hayato says, stumbling slightly over his words, before his expression shifts to something earnest. “I’ll wait up for you, okay?” 

Tsuna’s smile softens and he nods, accepting a brief kiss in farewell and staring after Hayato as he heads off toward their apartment ( _theirs_ , it’s _theirs,_ now). And then he turns back to his work with a pout, wishing half-heartedly that there were some way to suddenly gain the ability to read faster. He’d like to walk home with his boyfriend more than the once or twice a week his workload happens to be light enough to let him leave on time. 

~~~

As he’d expected, it takes almost two more hours to finish up and then he packs up in a rush and marches through the mansion’s halls to his rooms, sending Cedro a wave over his shoulder as he slips inside and locks the door behind him. 

He turns around, scanning for signs of his boyfriend, and finds him in the kitchen. There’s a box from Tsuna’s favorite pizza place in front of him, lid tipped back and emitting curls of steam, and Hayato has two plates already loaded up, transferring them to his palms when he notices Tsuna staring. 

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “Good timing. I was about to put on a movie.” 

“Did you get drinks yet?” Tsuna asks, and when Hayato shakes his head he heads into the kitchen and snags a couple of glasses. By the time he makes it to the den, Gokudera’s already settled into the couch — surrounded by pillows and laying out the fluffiest blanket they own over his lap, half of it pulled back invitingly for Tsuna to take his place underneath. A familiar tune dances out of the speakers and Tsuna glances up, blinking when he realizes the opening credits on the screen are for his favorite movie. 

He walks forward on autopilot, settling the cups on the coffee table and leaning back against Hayato’s arm, enveloped in warmth as the blanket is laid gently over him and a plate of steaming pizza is set on his lap. Hayato snuggles closer, reaching for his own food and folding the triangle in half like he always does, and Tsuna goes as goopy as the melted cheese on his plate. 

“Hayato,” he says softly. 

Hayato hums in question, gaze flicking absently his way with a quirked brow. 

“I love you too,” Tsuna says. 

Hayato flushes up to the tips of his ears and he whips his head back around toward the TV, mumbling something Tsuna can’t quite catch. A moment later he gently nudges Tsuna’s knee with his own, affection coloring the gesture, and Tsuna smiles, sinking into the cushion and the warmth at his side, and picks up a slice of pizza.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I recycle a few Italian names from a previous KHR fic of mine just so I wouldn’t have to look up a few more? Yes. Yes I did.
> 
> Also, there really is a conspiracy theory that Finland isn’t a real country. Google told me.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://zacekova.tumblr.com/). Feel free to scream at me about this fic, ask questions, or request prompts.


End file.
